Welcome to the moor of my mind, to the bog of my mood. In this place you'll find reflections in a shattered mirror, shadows in an autumnal day, changing dark clouds in my mind's nocturnal sky. This place is such a stuff as dreams and nightmares are made on, a journey record which gives shape to a different world. Welcome to my world.

Always walking on that blurred boundary where the will yields to desperation, you bend over to watch inside the abyss, to observe the others through yourself. Sometimes you're the whisper which turns somebody's head, the absence weighing a dismayed heart down; sometimes you're the enraged bull which ravages a weakened soul. And it's still you, even if you keep trying to lose yourself, because your core is too strong and keeps attracting back all the pieces that you drop along the road. You wonder if it's worth, or if maybe the disfigured face reflected in the shattered mirror deserves finally to be forgotten. The road that was told you had to be behind the mirror wasn't there. The blood drips, drop by drop, from your wounded hands, drawing a path leading home. It's your most inner self calling, urging you to stand up and fight, but how can you ignite the night if you miss the true spark? You're embers which smoulder under the ash, still dangerous; you're a void you wish to fill, a void which swallowed the sea; you're a dull pain which doesn't want to heal, a pain at the same time diverting and anchoring your soul. You stare back and you see just confusion. You push on and there's no path to follow. Split between anger and anguish, love and delusion, you know very well what your road is and like Jonah you refuse to follow it. But here there isn't a whale to hide in.